


holy fool, all colored blue

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Old Unrequited Crush, the teetering consequences of hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Saint-14 is back, and Drifter wants to confirm some things.(Written before Season of Dawn)
Relationships: The Drifter & Saint-14, The Drifter (Destiny)/Saint-14
Comments: 11
Kudos: 80





	holy fool, all colored blue

**Author's Note:**

> In ~~five days~~ 10 hours* this will all probably be non-compliant with canon, but I'm just a self-destructive clown trying to have some fun.
> 
> (Title from What Kind of Man by F&tM.)
> 
> *wow that new lore came at me fast huh

Even from the security feeds, Saint-14 is a towering, larger-than-life presence. He sticks out in a crowd, and it’s more than just the iconic helmet and the hundreds of purple ribbons hanging from his armor. The way he carries himself is — 

Well, it’s something Drifter never wants to copy, never wants to try for himself. He’s fine with sticking to low ground, thanks. The less eyes on him, the better, and Saint’s got all the eyes on him now. And for good reason; back from the dead with his Light as blinding as ever. It’s a goddamn miracle.

Drifter doesn’t know what’ll mean for his apocalypse, if this is a sign of hope or another omen to the end of times. But he’s always said that Saint wasn’t dead. Nice being prophetic for once, even if he isn’t sure if he wants a repeat of being cosmically right again. His next few prophecies aren’t exactly the greatest.

Even so, Drifter can’t help but come out of his hole in the Annex to take a look at the once-dead legend. It’s been about a month since Saint was yanked outta the Sundial. Most folks have quit fawning over the guy by the dozens every time he shows up in public. 

Saint-14 stands in the Tower courtyard, close to the rails, overlooking the City. It’s the dead of night, and Drifter can see how the helm gleams under the starlight and Traveler.

The legends always allude Saint-14 to sunrises and new dawns, but Drifter thinks Saint’s real domain is in night’s darkness, bright like a star.

Drifter wants to be unimpressed, wants to be disappointed, wants to believe he’s been disillusioned by younger, more optimistic memories. Instead, he stands there and stares. Just another awestricken chump in the crowd. He’s no different from the rest.

When Saint-14 turns around and beckons him over, Drifter goes. What else can he do? He strides up to the Titan, keeping his expression of mild curiosity. His palms are clammy as Saint-14 looks at him, the violet cut down his helm brightening.

He is exactly the same as Drifter remembers him. 

“I remember you,” says Saint, while Drifter tries not to flinch. 

Drifter won’t pretend to know how Saint-14 thinks — _they could not be further apart_ — but he recognizes the warm slide in Saint’s tone, the note of surprise, the way he leans a little closer into Drifter’s space.

Hundreds of years have gone by for Saint. Aside from Osiris, every friend is long dead, every mortal he’s saved, every Guardian he’s fought with — gone. Every face is new.

Drifter knows the tone. Hundreds of years have gone by for him too, ‘cept he’s never had much in the way of friends, but he’s lost the precious few he’s managed to scrape up anyway. Every face is a stranger, and he’s doing his damndest to keep it that way.

“I remember you,” Saint-14 repeats when Drifter lets the silence stretch for too long.

Familiarity can be a salve to loneliness, and it can be a vice that'll root you down into an early grave. Drifter made his choice a long time ago.

“Eh, you sure? First I’ve ever seen of you. You’re the legend,” he says, and hopes Saint-14 doesn’t notice how his fingers twitch, wishing to fiddle around with a coin. He takes a step next to Saint, grabbing a space of railing to lean one elbow on.

Undeterred, Saint-14 holds up his wrist, and Drifter’s stomach sinks while his heart leaps up his throat at the same time.

A purple cord, wrapped tight around Saint’s right cuff. Drifter remembers paying his dues to Saint-14, long ago, and with a bitter thought he realizes that it’s paid too well.

“Nice bracelet. Matches your ribbons,” he says, aiming for genial but distant. Let Saint think the person he saved is long gone like the rest of them, let him think Drifter shares the same face of a dead man, born again to fight for himself.

It’s part truth anyway.

Saint-14 pauses, his thoughtful gaze falling like the weight of judgement. Drifter holds still.

“It’s been a very long time,” Saint-14 eventually says; there’s no gentleness in his voice but there is a sort of discernment to it that makes Drifter want to say something unfair and _mean_. “This was an accolade from someone I knew. He reminds me of you.”

“Don’t think he exists anymore. That long ago, bet the guy’s dead,” Drifter drawls, but his next words don’t come out as sardonic as he wants; “There’s just me.”

“So it seems.”

Saint doesn’t sound hurt. And why would he be? The Titan could take a hundred Fallen shock blades to the chest and not stumble — he don’t hurt easy. Drifter’s seen it firsthand for himself.

So Saint really hasn’t changed a bit. Consider his curiosity sated.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure finally getting to see _the_ Saint-14 up close,” Drifter says, pushing off the rail.

“And it’s been good to have some company, thank you,” Saint-14 says with a polite nod. He turns to the rail and goes back to watching the City after Drifter takes his leave.

And it takes Drifter five steps before he stops and sneaks a glance over his shoulder.

Saint is still staring out into the City, his silhouette a dark outline against the lights. Drifter thinks if he hadn’t shown up, Saint would’ve just stayed still the entire time. 

His long shadow drapes over Drifter, and he’s not much like a glowing star anymore. Part of a constellation, maybe, or some other poetic bullshit Drifter’s tired brain can’t fully grasp.

But from this angle, Saint is a dimming figure, who holds himself too high and leans too far out the rails like he wants to fall into the City he has died to protect.

Not once has Drifter seen him look up at the Traveler.

He turns around, walks back, and taps Saint-14 on the shoulder.

When Saint-14 faces him, Drifter dangles a thin braided cord in the air — purple and still glimmering from a hasty shader change.

“Word on the street says this is for good luck,” says Drifter, “Tie one on you ‘n you’ll live forever.”

Saint glances at the cord. He sighs. “I am not some kind of charm.”

Drifter just laughs. “Humor me. I’m the sort to tempt bad luck.”

Of course, Saint lets him wrap the cord around his forearm, just above his right wrist. As far as Drifter knows, Saint has never turned one down. 

“What’s your name?” Saint-14 asks, as Drifter ties the cord into a functional bow.

Drifter shakes his head, snorting. He doesn’t look up from Saint’s forearm — the cord doesn’t sit right in the grooves of his armor, so Drifter has to rewrap it. “Oh, this ain’t for me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s for _you_. For luck. I know a couple of someones who worked their asses off to get you back,” Drifter says, giving the cord one last tug before stepping away. “Least you could do is make sure you stay alive this time, big guy. Pay your own dues.”

Saint holds up his arm, looking at the new braid along his forearm. If he notices how it matches the one on his wrist, he doesn’t say.

“I suppose I owe it to myself,” he says, and there’s a hint of wry humor echoing back at Drifter. “Thank you.”

 _From one prophet to another,_ Drifter wants to say, but that’ll be more trouble than it’s worth.

“Be seein’ you soon,” Drifter says, which gets a curious tilt from Saint’s helm, but he just heads back towards the Annex. No doubt the Vanguard will fill Saint-14 in on their joint semi-alliance later.

In the meantime, let Saint dream of the universe’s savior, and Drifter’ll keep his visions of the destruction that follows.


End file.
